


Clear as the Mud

by littleconnections



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Best Friends, Friends to Lovers, M/M, canon divergent after season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 17:54:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2077548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleconnections/pseuds/littleconnections
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything is different after Scott becomes a werewolf. People trying to kill him different and tracking his best friend’s heartbeat different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clear as the Mud

Everything is different after Scott becomes a werewolf.

There’s the general running, jumping, people trying to kill him, of course. That certainly wasn’t part of his life before his special relationship with the moon and he kind of wishes that it wasn’t part of his life now.

Then there’s the part where he’s super strong and super fast and has great balance and doesn’t have asthma anymore. That part is pretty great. He enjoys that part a lot.

But then there’s parts that can be sucky or great depending on the situation. The smelling, for example, is great when it’s flowers or his mom’s cooking but is really unpleasant when he’s walking past the trash or into the locker room.

And then there’s the hearing.

When Scott had first become a werewolf it was hard to pick out noises individually. There was just so much of it, a constant rush of noise that had to be focused on and picked apart in order for it to make any sort of sense. Most of the time Scott had tried to ignore it, tried to will the noise _away_ in order to be capable of focusing on what was right in front of him.

He had spent quite a lot of time memorizing Allison’s heartbeat. He memorized the quick way it fluttered in her ribcage when they were laying on Allison’s bed, kissing and smiling at each other. He learned to recognize its steady thumping when she was at school and talking to Lydia and the slight hitch in it when he smiled at her across the classroom.

Eventually Scott knew the way it beat when she was angry, when she was nervous, when she was happy. He spent a lot of time listening to her heartbeat, tracking its movement. Not tracking her, exactly, just listening to remember she’s there.

Even after they break-up (for real this time) it’s a hard habit to break. He keeps searching for her heartbeat because it’s calming, because he wants to remember: this is what she sounds like, this is her heart.

The first time he notices Stiles’ heartbeat is by its absence. It’s nothing special, just that he goes to school expecting Stiles to be there, in the front of the school and in the seat behind him in History, and he’s not. It’s not like this has never happened before, between supernatural activity, supernatural injury and skipping class Stiles has disappeared on him before.

But this time, for whatever reason, Scott notices an absence in the wall of noise that surrounds him. He casts around for Allison first, because that seems like the most obvious thing for him to notice, but no, she’s there, heartbeat clear and steady. That throws him for a moment, and he wonders what’s missing, because it’s not like he hasn’t noticed that Stiles is missing (he has eyes after all) but he’s never consciously listened for him, not in the way he listens for Allison.

He feels strange all through the day and it bothers Scott, because he can’t quite figure it out. The sound is off and he thinks maybe if spent more time working with Derek he would be able to pinpoint this (but then, Derek is kind of a dick and refuses to explain things in a way that Scott can understand them).

But when Scott goes by Stiles’ house after school (because that’s where Stiles is, home sick with the flu and not in any imminent danger) and he hears the steady-slow thump-thump-thump of Stiles’ heartbeat the unease of the whole day falls off him and everything is the way it’s supposed to be again.

Stiles comes to the door for him, wrapped in a blanket, sniffling into a tissue, dripping and disgusting, bitching almost as soon as he’s let Scott inside. They go into the living room, which Stiles has turned into his personal reserve with blankets and pillows all over the couch and the coffee table littered with tissues. Scott settles beside Stiles on the couch and plays Halo while Stiles leans against him and whines and snuffles and coughs.

Scott listens to Stiles heartbeat, slow and easy and constant and it settles everything inside him that’s been off all day. It’s soothing and perfect and he doesn’t even mind when Stiles forces him to run to the store and get his favorite brand of soup and then forces Scott to make it for him because Stiles is pushy on a good day and damn near insufferable when he’s sick but his heartbeat is steady and _there,_ so he doesn’t really care.

Scott pays more attention after that. It turns out that he doesn’t have to memorize Stiles’ heartbeat, he already knows it. He knows how it beats hard in his chest after suicide runs in lacrosse practice, the way it thumps nervously before a chemistry test, the angry beating when Mr. Harris lays into one of them, the way it hitches occasionally when Lydia does something particularly stunning. Scott doesn’t have to memorize the particulars of Stiles’ heart the way he did with Allison, they’re something he already knows, comfortable and familiar and there.

Since now Stiles heartbeat is something that Scott consciously pays attention to, he’s _always_ noticing it. The slight hitches and changes in the constant slow-steady beat that follows him around the school and sometimes home afterwards. He hears it from across the kitchen table where Stiles makes himself comfortable with a sandwich, underneath Stiles’ complaints about Derek and Derek’s pack and ugh, Jackson. Sometimes Scott finds himself tracking it instead of the conversation, but then it’s probably nothing he hasn’t heard before.

“Huh?” he asks, resurfacing because there’s a pause in the stream of words and it means that Stiles asked him a question.

Stiles is eyeing him critically from across the table, a smear of mustard on the side of his mouth and his tongue comes out to get it, a quick flick from between his lips.

“I asked if you wanted to get started on Chemistry, now that there’s a lull in moon related activity,” Stiles says.

“Uh,” Scott pulls a face. This is one of his days off from work and he doesn’t want to but, “Sure, whatever. I have to get my grades up if I ever want to make first string again.”

“Cool,” Stiles nods to himself and leans out of the kitchen chair so he can finagle his backpack to him without leaving his seat, no matter how strangely he has to contort himself.

\--

Of course the respite from terrifying supernatural activity doesn’t last long. That would be too much to hope for, when in the past year they have deal with an Alpha, a Kanima, an Alpha Pack and the disappearance of Peter (though honestly, the last one didn’t require much of them except to sit around and panic about what Peter was going to do. So far nothing and Scott is keeping his fingers crossed).

It starts out like every other day, normal. One of the days where Scott thinks he’ll be able to go to school and go to work and nothing terrible will happen, nothing will try to maim him or destroy his life and relationships.

It almost works out that way too, because he manages to go to school and to work and nothing happens. It’s when he’s on his way home, biking slowly, lazily through the streets of Beacon that things start happening.

He doesn’t notice right away, because it’s hot and the air is filled with the static from an oncoming thunderstorm, too thick and heavy. It feels like the air is sticking to him, damp and clingy, making him sweat too much. It’s heavy on his mouth, in his lungs and Scott hopes the storm breaks before the night so that he’ll be able to sleep.

The smell makes him hit the brakes so hard he almost tips off the bike (or rather, he would have, before the change). It’s…there’s no way to describe it, not in words, it doesn’t smell like anything in particular, it’s just a _smell_ but he can tell that it’s wrong, it doesn’t belong. He knows the way things smell now, the way he knows how things sound, and he can tell if there something wrong with the way the world smells around him.

He tries to place it though, takes another deep breath and hopes it’s something he will know. There are other scents around it, mingling with it that he knows, dirt and the dumpster but the core of it, the smell itself, he doesn’t know, which can only mean bad things.

Scott glances at the sky, low and heavy and grey above him, sighs and sends a silent prayer to the heavens that it doesn’t start raining before he gets inside, then he turns the bike around and drives off, quickly now, feet pushing into the peddles and houses start whipping by him, blurring slightly in his vision.

It starts to rain about a block before he gets to Stiles’ house, because of course it does. It’s just a couple of drops at first, fat and heavy on the sidewalk and Scott thinks that maybe he can still make it inside but then the heaven’s open and the downpour starts. He’s soaked to the skin within minutes, shirt clinging to him uncomfortably, hair plastered to his forehead and falling into his eyes. There’s rain dripping into the shell of his ear.

Scott lifts the bike onto the porch and then leans on the doorbell until Stiles thumps down the stairs and opens the door for him, because he knows the Sheriff isn’t home yet.

“You look like a drowned puppy,” Stiles observes and wrinkles his nose at him. Scott makes a face and pushes his way past him. If Stiles can invade his house through windows then he’s perfectly justified in coming in through a door that’s been opened for him.

“Can I have a shirt?” he asks instead, because the one he has on is now wet and clinging to him in a way that’s mostly uncomfortable and slightly damp, filling his nose with the scent of wet cotton. Stiles looks at him sharply, eyes trailing down his torso and there’s a tiny, irregular thump in the steady beating of his heart, then he shrugs and turns towards his room.

“Yeah sure, man, help yourself,” he says, taking the stairs two at a time.

“What are you here for anyway?” he wants to know when they’re in his room, Scott peeling his shirt off and over his head. He’s sort of half in-half out when the question comes, arms stuck at comical angles and it takes a moment until he struggles out of it.

“Uh,” he says, digging through Stiles shirt drawer and eventually settling for grabbing the first shirt at the top of the pile, “well-“

He turns around; shirt in hands and Stiles is sitting backwards on his desk chair, mouth slightly open and a little pink around the cheeks. His heart does that weird little thump again and Scott frowns because what? But then Stiles closes his mouth and raises his eyebrows.

“I smelled something,” Scott pulls the shirt over his head. It’s a tiny bit big, not really noticeably, because Stiles is taller than him, and little wider in the shoulders, even if the rest of him is just skin over bones, “When I was on the way home from work. It didn’t- It just wasn’t right, you know?”

“No,” Stiles says, “I most empathically do not know. You came over here in the pouring rain because you smelled a weird? What did it smell like?”

“I don’t know! I never smelt it before!” Scott makes a helpless gesture with his hands, “It’s just- Things don’t smell like things, okay? They just smell like themselves. And this smelt wrong. Like, I could tell it wasn’t supposed to be there. It didn’t fit in with all the other smells.”

Stiles is peering up at him in disbelief, eyes wide and brown and eyebrows crawling up his forehead, “So there is a thing that smells wrong but you don’t know _what_ it was and your first instinct was to come and tell me? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m honored but this is a little outside of my area of expertise, don’t you think?”

Scott groans and flops down on Stiles bed, staring at the ceiling. It’s blank and white and does not hold the answers to any of his questions.

“Do you think we should tell Derek?” he asks. Well whines. He doesn’t want to do that. Not because Derek shouldn’t know if there was something going on but generally, Scott avoids Derek as much as possible. It’s not really Derek’s fault, he supposes, at least by now they’ve sort of managed to work together. But generally anytime he has anything to do with Derek it’s because of death and mayhem so he may be slightly avers to doing things with him. He’s sort of sorry about it, but not enough to actively change it.

Stiles doesn’t answer right away and when Scott lifts his head to look at him his lips are pursed and he looks like he’s weighing the pros and cons of that decision.

“I don’t know man, is there anything else you can tell me about it? Anything at all? Maybe I can find something.”

“There was also the smell of dirt,” Scott said, helplessly, “And the dumpster, I think. But nothing else, not that I can remember. I could just tell it was something different, that I’d never met before, right. And that probably means it’s something bad.”

“I- okay, lemme see,” Stiles wiggles around in his chair until he’s facing his computer again, frowning at the screen with intense concentration. Scott let’s his head fall back to stare at the ceiling again. He still has homework to do, he thinks dully, but it’s nice here on Stiles’ bed, in Stiles’ room, where everything smells of Stiles, all the scents that make up him, his soap and shampoo and sweat and whatever combination of body chemistry that makes him smell like _him_. It’s as comforting and familiar as his heartbeat. So Scott just lies back on the bed and listens to Stiles’ fingers clacking on the keyboard.

\--

“Yeah, no, I got nothing,” Stiles says a little while later, “And I can already tell I’m not going to get anything. Sorry, I just don’t get wolfy, smelly things and I don’t think the internet does either,” he pauses, Scott can imagine him making a face at his computer, “We should probably tell Derek, if you think it’s important.”

He sounds unhappy about it. Stiles doesn’t really like Derek. Scott doesn’t really know whether it’s fair or not, Derek has done some things that were clearly in the Not Good category, but he’s been shaping up, a bit.

But then, Stiles has a tendency to dislike people and only makes a few exceptions. Scott knows he’s one of those exceptions and most of the time he counts himself lucky. Stiles may be a difficult person and kind of an asshole to people he doesn’t like (which, as stated before, is almost everyone) the fact that he does like Scott means that Scott can count on him for basically anything, lycanthropy and the assorted dangers included.

“I’ll call him,” Scott says, “I should probably call my mom too; tell her I’ll be home late.”

It’s nice that his mom knows about werewolves now. He knows she worries about him, but it also makes stuff like this a lot easier. Less sneaking around, more understanding. It’s a trade he can live with by now.

Derek listens to him and tells him to come over to his apartment so they can talk about it properly. Stiles makes a face when he hears it, because that’s the kind of things that Derek does that Stiles can’t stand, order them around even though they aren’t a part of his pack and just makes assumption without asking. It bothers Scott too, bothered him more before he figured out how much of Derek’s persona is simply him trying to hold up the illusion that he knows what he’s doing. That realization had made it easier to deal with and so he doesn’t feel like picking a fight with Derek about where they are going to meet to exchange information that could possibly be important for everyone’s safety. Maybe, Scott muses, he grew up somewhere along the last year.

\--

They take the jeep to Derek’s place, because it’s raining and fuck if Scott is going to take his bike through that. Stiles’ mouth is pinched and unhappy, he’s furious and scared and frustrated so Scott lets him be, watches the rain on the window pane, the way the drops run down and meet each other. He picks drops on the windscreen and urges them on his mind, racing against other raindrops.

“We’re here,” Stiles says shortly when they pull up in front of the building that contains Derek’s loft, but he hesitates before they get out of the car, glancing over at Scott. His heartbeat is a little off, tripping over itself, anxious, “Hey, Scott, just…do you think it’s gonna be bad?”

“I don’t know,” Scott admits, one hand fiddling with the door handle, “I hope not. It might be nothing, just a weird smell. Maybe I’m just a sucky werewolf and didn’t recognize that it was just some dude who went too long without showering.”

Stiles snorts in disbelieve, but his mouth relaxes slightly, “whatever man, you’re the best werewolf we’ve got.”

They run from the car to the house, trying to get out of the rain as fast as possible. It works, sort of; at least they’re only slightly damp when they reach the building and start climbing the stairs. Derek’s loft is nice, much better than the old Hale house or the terrible abandoned subway. It has furniture. It has a kitchen and a bathroom. There’s electricity. It might not be homey, exactly, but it also doesn’t feel like you are going to catch something and die.

Derek’s waiting for them, standing dramatically in the middle of his living room, arms crossed and scowling. Behind Scott, Stiles lets out a snort.

“Hey guys!” Erica is splayed out on Derek’s couch, forcing Isaac and Boyd to sit on the floor. She waves at them and Isaac smiles and Boyd gives them a nod, all of them used to their Alpha’s dramatics by now. Scott wonders whether Derek called them here when he called or if they were all just hanging out, as they’ve taken to doing ever since Derek got the loft and the Alpha pack mess got sorted out.

“Is there food?” Stiles demands, coming out from behind Scott and trying to climb onto the couch with Erica, who won’t let him and pushes him onto the floor to sit with the other boys. For all the Stiles still doesn’t like Derek, he’s warmed up considerably to the betas. Not that Scott would go so far as to call them friends but there was definitely some mutual bonding over pizza and killing things.

Scott is still standing in the middle of the living room beside Derek and it feels stupid and weird, like he’s supposed to be in charge somehow. Maybe he is, since he’d clearly said that he doesn’t want Derek to be in charge of him, but still, it feels strange to be standing off to the side, as the pack leaders.

“So you said you smelled something?” Derek says, drawing the attention back to the actual problem at hand.

“Um, yeah,” Scott turns towards him, over by the couch Erica sits up and Boyd and Isaac come up from the floor. Only Stiles stays where he was, leaning against the couch, digging through the chip bags to see if there is still a little rest for him.

“I was biking back from work and there was something that I’d never smelled before. Like, I couldn’t place it at all and I know it might not be that big of a deal, but hey, after everything we’ve been through, I figured better safe than sorry?” he looks right at Derek.

“Damn straight,” Stiles yells from the couch, mouth full of chip crumbs.

“Right,” Derek narrows his eyes, eyebrows low and dark, “You couldn’t place the smell at all? There was nothing it smelled similar to? Could you say if it was human or animal or something chemical?”

He doesn’t ask what it smelled like. But then he wouldn’t, Derek more than anyone knows there’s no way to really describe a smell. It makes Scott a little glad they came out here to talk to him.

“No, I couldn’t place it all, but I don’t think it was chemical,” he says, searching his memories, “It smelled at little bit like dirt and the dumpster? Like, not the smell itself, but around it? Like whatever it was had been playing in the garbage.”

“Okay,” Derek looks like he thinks he should ask more questions but he isn’t sure what they are, then he pulls himself together, “where did you smell this?”

“Uh,” It takes Scott a moment to recall the exact position, “Over on Parkway? Right by the corner with the pizza place.”

Derek glances out his window, “It’ll be gone now, because of the rain. We’ll keep an eye out, though, for strange smells, all of us,” he glances over to his betas, who nod solemnly, “and if you smell it again, call me right away so that I can get there and maybe identify it. Until then there’s really nothing we can do except keep our eyes out.”

“You mean noses,” Stiles cracks and Erica swats at him and Derek rolls his eyes.

“And you’ll let me know if you find anything,” Scott says, warning. That was one thing Derek had to be reminded off, not just to demand information of others but to let people know if he found anything himself.

Derek’s face becomes slightly pinched, but he nods. Scott will hold him to that.

For a moment there’s nothing to say, both of them just looking at each other. It’s not like they hang out. Sometimes Scott hangs out with Isaac, or Boyd, even Erica, but not with Derek directly. It’s awkward, because neither of them know what to say so that Scott and Stiles can make a graceful exit.

“Well enlightening as this has been, and really, this wasn’t something you could’ve discussed over the phone?” Stiles picks himself off the floor, “Scotty, your bike is still at my house, we should probably get that and get you home before your mom starts worrying.”

Derek rolls his eyes again but Scott nods and they say their goodbyes and head towards the door. It’s still raining, but Stiles heartbeat is calmer than it was before, so Scott figures that visit wasn’t a total waste of time and hey, at least they know where they stand with each other now, right?

\--

It takes two days for something to come up, which is of course exactly the amount of time Scott needs to get his hopes up that _maybe_ it was nothing only to have them crushed.

“Did you get Derek’s text?” Isaac asks when he flops down next to Scott at lunch. On his other side Stiles tenses up, heartbeat speeding up, the quick thump-thump-thump momentarily distracting.

“Uh,” Scott pulls out his phone (which had been on silent, because, well, he _was_ at school) and sure enough there is text from Derek.

_Come to diner on Rosewood_ was all it says. Scott makes a face.

“Now???”

“Basically,” Isaac shrugs, “Erica and Boyd have already gone. I saw you heading over here and figured I’d make sure you knew what’s what.” He smiles sweetly and this is why Isaac is Scott’s favorite of Derek’s betas, even when he is difficult parts of him are soft and vulnerable and everything else hard and bitchy and sly.

“Stiles,” he turns to his friend but Stiles is already waving him off, stuffing his mouth with French fries, just at the edge of too vicious.

“Yeah, yeah go and do the wolfy, smelly thing, I’ll cover for you or something,” he says.

“Thanks,” Scott smiles at him, wide and grateful. He tries not to make skipping school a habit but there’s only so much you can do about a strange smell and waiting is definitely not one of the options.

Stiles looks at him for a long moment, almost like he wants to say something, his heartbeat slowing down slightly from the crazy beating it had gone into when Isaac had first shown up but Isaac is already walking towards the door so Scott leaves it at that, scrambling after Isaac while trying not to look completely conspicuous. He’s not sure he manages.

\--

They run through town. Which, you know, is also completely inconspicuous. Not.

It is, however, fast and they reach the diner in no time at all. It makes Scott hope that maybe he can be back in school after lunch. Not because he likes school that much, but because school is infinitely preferable to whatever supernatural catastrophe is cooking up. Also, he’d promised his mom.

Derek’s in the parking lot, standing beside the camaro. His arms are crossed and he looks the same way he always does: annoyed and put out. It doesn’t even bother Scott anymore. Boyd is standing at Derek’s right shoulder, the way he always does because there is some sort of complicated werewolf-lore-pack-ritual-reason but Scott Just. Doesn’t. Care. (He thinks Stiles cares. He thinks Stiles might even know the reason. It’s the sort of thing Stiles does.) Erica is leaning against the camaro, legs hugged by a miniskirt and crossed at the ankles.

“So where is-,” Scott begins but then it hits him, much clearer than it had the other night, stronger and _larger_ somehow, if that can be applied to a smell. It’s new and different and it doesn’t _fit_ with the rest of the scents in this town, but now Scott can make out more about the smell. It’s animal, clearly, and faintly feline, like the cats that come through the vets clinic.

“That’s it,” he says to Derek, who’s watching him closely, all thunderous eyebrows and frown lines, “This is what I smelled the other day. What is it?”

For a moment Derek’s whole being stiffens which is always, always a bad sign, because it usually means that Derek doesn’t know but is going to try to bullshit his way through (it had taken Scott _forever_ to figure that one out) but then Derek gives a one-shouldered shrug.

“I don’t know,” he says, “A shifter of some type. The smell disappears a little further on, which shows that they shifted into their human form.”

“Is this going to be like the Kanima again?” Isaac moans. He’s moved away from Scott, slinking over to his pack and placing himself next to Erica, though he doesn’t lean against the car the way she does.

“ _No_ ,” Derek says, “There haven’t been any deaths; I don’t think whoever it is out of control. I do, however, want to know what the hell they think they’re doing on my territory.” And his eyebrows seem to grow even more thunderous.

This kind of thing is one of the reasons Scott doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to be part of Derek’s pack. He understands that things like territory and hierarchy and pack are important to Derek, partly he even understands, feels the instinctual pull towards it, but on another level, a fundamentally human level, he just doesn’t care that much. A shifter is passing through town. So what? They haven’t killed anyone, and though Scott would feel better knowing they weren’t planning on killing anyone in the future either, he doesn’t feel like entering Beacon Hills is some sort of personal insult to him.

Derek, however, does. And from the way the rest of the pack was looking, it seemed like they thought so too, so Scott sighed and resigned himself to his fate.

“So how are we going to catch them?”

\--

Stiles frowns at Scott, “That’s your plan?”

“Yeah,” Scott organizes the medicine in the cabinet in front of him and listens to Stiles’ heartbeat. He’s at work, Deaton is out on a house call and left him behind to organize the new arrivals. Stiles came with him after school to find out what had happened with Derek and the pack.

“Did Derek come up with this plan?” Stiles purses his lips, “It sounds like way too sensible of a plan for Derek to have come up with it.”

“Boyd came up with it,” Scott says, “most of it. Some of it was my idea.”

The left side of Stiles’ mouth curves up, “that’s my boy.”

The beating of Stiles’ heart is slightly faster than usual, but steady and even. It’s soothing and Scott finishes organizing the medicine bottles. He closes the cabinet, runs his fingers through his hair and goes to pick the broom.

“You’re not going to help me are you?” he asks Stiles.

Stiles, leaning against counter, legs stretched out in front him, grins widely and his eyes brighten, “no, I think I’d rather watch.”

Scott rolled his eyes but he starts sweeping. It’s not hard work, especially as a werewolf but it’s still hot and the air sticky and warm. He’s been sweating all day and he’s sweating now, t-shirt sticking to his chest and back. It’s uncomfortable and disgusting so after a couple of minutes Scott just strips the shirt off his back and wipes his face with it, then tosses it towards the rest of his stuff.

He hears a hitch in Stiles’ heartbeat and frowns as he turns around. Stiles is looking at him, mouth slightly parted, eyes wide and brown and clear and for a moment he just stands there _looking_ at Scott, then he twitches and jerks his hand up to gesture vaguely.

“Putting on a show are we?” he asks and his voice is steady but there is still a tremor and the beating is too fast, “Think I’ll be more willing to help if you look all sexy, huh?”

Scott smiles, all sweetness, “You think I’m sexy?”

For a second Stiles says nothing, then he laughs, “What you didn’t know that by now?”

Scott laughs, too.

\--

The plan is simple and non-violent so Scott really hopes that it will work. They’ll run patrols in the night in order to look for the scent and they will keep in contact with each other through howling, clearly establishing their territory for any other shape shifters in the area. This will hopefully either run them out of town or encourage them to make themselves known, at which point they will decide what to do about them. Or Derek will. Scott will just make sure Derek doesn’t do something utterly stupid.

Of course this plan also means he’s out of bed again on a school night, which he knows his mother wouldn’t approve of and would probably have forbidden as there was no actual life threatening thing going on yet. So he was ‘spending the night at Stiles’ house’ and Stiles is covering for him. It won’t hold up to close scrutiny and if his mother hears the howling tonight his mother will definitely be giving him looks but it’s what they’ve got for now.

Boyd, Erica, Isaac and Derek are waiting for him at the school parking lot. Boyd has coordinated where they will run through town and at which points they are to howl. He also decided which howls they would use to indicate they found something and which to say they found nothing, which he demonstrates to them now.

The howls echo around the parking lot and Derek’s eyebrows look even more grumpy than usual but Scott finds himself grinning. It sounds _cool_ and he’s glad that for once they are using their abilities in a way that doesn’t guarantee mayhem and destruction.

It’s also nice to run. Running is one of the things he appreciates more since having turned, the fluid motion of his body and the way the world blurs when he runs past it. He focuses on the scents, uses them to guide him. They’re a familiar blend of earth and trash and food and people, an even, mute haze.

There’s nothing at the first checkpoint so he howls and seconds later he hears the echoing howls from the distance, all confirming that they’ve found nothing. It tugs at something in him, deep in his chest. A sort of togetherness that he hasn’t ever felt anywhere else, deep and connected. It is, he guesses, the feeling of _pack_ and it’s nice enough that sometimes he is tempted to give in and join them. Then he remembers that this would make Derek the boss of him and desire fades. Still, in these small moments it’s nice.

He changes directions and keeps running. Again nothing and this times someone else howls first and Scott echoes it. It’s the same thing at the next checkpoint and at the next and eventually they’ve run their paths and found nothing. That’s disappointing but, well, they will do this again tomorrow and there’s always the possibility that the shifter would leave or reveal itself.

Stiles is stretched out on his bed when Scott climbs into his window, his heart thumping unevenly. Only when Scott grins at him in the dim light from outside and indicates for him to move over in the bed does calm itself. There’s another hitch, just slightly, when Scott wiggles out of his pants but when Scott looks at him Stiles eyes are almost closed and he’s smiling.

Scott climbs in next to Stiles. They’ve done this so many times in all their years of friendship that Scott is familiar with Stiles shape next to him, the curve of his neck in the moonlight and the way his eyes bright and brown despite the darkness as he waits for a whispered report of the night.

It’s nothing new but now Scott finds himself tuning in to Stiles heart, the way it is beating noticeably quicker and the way Stiles bites his lip and glances away sometimes. He doesn’t know what it means though, so he just tells his story and eventually they fall asleep, heartbeat accompanying him.

\--

The sheriff eyes Scott suspiciously over breakfast the next morning, “Lots of howling in town last night.”

“Umm,” Scott glances at Stiles who is eating his cereal. The sheriff knows about the werewolves too, it wasn’t a big step from telling Melissa to telling him but this was more about covering up Scott’s rule breaking than the existence of the supernatural.

“Derek and his pack were running a patrol,” Stiles says and there’s barely a hitch in his heartbeat, “Apparently there’s someone in town that they’re trying to find. Doesn’t seem to be evil though.”

“Hmm,” The sheriff takes a sip of his coffee, “Derek and the pack? So you weren’t out there Scott?”

“No sir,” Scott says, and maybe it’s a bit too quick, “not on a school night.”

The sheriff doesn’t really looks like he believes him.

“Oh come on Dad,” Stiles leans back in his chair, balancing it on its hind legs, “Scott’s not gonna run with Derek and them. We don’t even like them!”

That’s…almost true and again the hitch in Stiles heart is miniscule. The sheriff takes another sip of his coffee, narrows his eyes at both of them but then turns back to his paper. They’re good, for now.

\--

The problem with Stiles is that he won’t stay put, not even when it would be the more sensible course of action. Scott has resigned himself to this, which is why Stiles is with them at rendezvous point. Luckily tomorrow is Saturday so they don’t actually have to lie about what they are doing. At least Scot didn’t, he’s not sure what Stiles told his father.

“What’s he doing here?” Erica squints at Stiles suspiciously. Her hair and makeup are perfect as always but she’s wearing comfortable jogging clothes, “Going to try to run with the wolves?”

“Har-di-ha-ha,” Stiles crosses his arms across his chest, “I’m here to help.”

“Oh,” Erica raises her eyebrows, “and how?”

Stiles gave a one shouldered shrug, “I have a plan, don’t worry about me. Just do your running thing and don’t let anyone see because let’s face it, you run like an embarrassment.”

Erica growls and lets her eyes flare up but Stiles just stares back at her. He’s seen too much of that to still be impressed with it now.

Derek sighs. Privately Scott almost agrees.

“Just don’t get in the way,” he orders and now its Stiles turn to roll his eyes.

“Oh yeah sure, I’m going to interfere with your jogging session from my jeep. I’ll throw out little balls and you’ll all get distracted and try to chase them.”

Scott laughs and Stiles throws him a proud look. Derek looks murderous.

“Let’s go.”

\--

The run is the same as yesterday except that this time they are making a full circle around town, ending back with Stiles. Scott runs and smells and howls, listens to the others answering him. He doesn’t find anything and he thinks that maybe the shifter had left town for good, maybe that little bit was the last of them. After all Derek did say they were probably only passing through…

He’s back on the last stretch back towards the school again when he smells it again, overwhelming and different. It’s the same scent as before but this time it’s a clear trail and it’s spread out all in front of Scott, back towards the school. Where Stiles is. By himself.

The terror catches Scott in the throat and he howls, the quick, short series that indicates he’s found something. His feet pound the pavement as he speeds up, rounding a corner too quickly and almost hitting a wall but it’s only a little further to the school.

The scent doesn’t get less intense but when Scott bursts onto the parking lot there’s only Stiles, standing in front of the jeep with his bat in his hands, eyes wide and nervous. His heartbeat is wild and uneven. There’s nothing else though, just the jeep with the map Stiles was working on spread out over the hood and the two other cars that were there earlier parked in the distance.

Stiles spots Scott and he smiles and his heartbeat slows. It’s still fast but not nearly as fast as before and beating an even rhythm. Behind Scott he can hear Derek and Boyd arrive, Erica and Isaac aren’t far off either.

“Get him out of here,” Derek growls at Scott and Stiles starts to protest but Scott knows that Derek is right this time. The scent is all over this place and if he’s right then it’s starting to get thicker.

“Come on Stiles,” Scott says, “I think they’re coming.”

Isaac slinks over to the jeep and peers at Stiles map. He touches it with one clawed hand, frowning at something. Stiles is biting his lip, glaring at Derek, whose arms are crossed over his chest.

“Fine,” he says finally, tossing his bat into the jeep, “whatever, where do you want me to go.”

“Hide,” Derek hisses, “Somewhere over there or something. Keep an eye out.”

Over there is in the direction of the small shacks that are used to store god knows what. Scott starts jogging off and after a moment Stiles follows him, sneakered feet pounding the asphalt as he hurries to catch up. Behind them Scott can hear the betas falling into formation around Derek.

The door of the first shack is locked of course but it’s been a while since Scott has let something like that stop him and he wrenches the door open. The inside is mostly full of boxes, dim light falling in through the dirty windows. There isn’t much space but the smell reaches all the way back here now so there probably isn’t much time to find something better.

“Come on,” Scott pushes his way into the room and Stiles follows him looking doubtful. Something brushes Scott’s face, hopefully just a spider web. Scott pulls the door mostly closed but leaving it open enough so that they can see Derek and the betas in the distance, waiting.

Scott can hear Stiles heartbeat beside him, still fast and he turns to face him. There’s just enough space in the storage room that they can face each other but they are very close to each other. For a moment nothing happens the Scott can hear the quick _thump-thump-thump_ of Stiles’ heart, speeding up, faster than it had Scott had first run back into the parking lot, and when he looks up at him Stiles’ eyes are deep brown and wide, wide, wide and for a moment he looks utterly terrified despite the fact that nothing at all has happened yet.

For a moment they stare at each other and then Stiles’ gaze drops to Scott’s mouth and then up again, a quick flick of the eyes and there’s a hitch in Stiles’ breath and a stutter in his heartbeat and somehow the way he smells is off...

Scott looks at Stiles, eyes wide with surprise. Stiles is blushing, color high in his cheek.

“Scott-” he says, desperately but before he can continue Derek starts to speak.

“Decided to show yourself, have you?”

Scott is torn because on the one hand he wants to know what is going on outside and be sure that Derek isn’t going to fuck it up on the other hand he feels that this thing with Stiles should really be getting his full attention.

Stiles makes the decision for him, angling away so that they’re not facing each other anymore and he’s peering out of the gap in the door. Scott stares at him for a moment, can still hear his heartbeat, a deafening, quick _thump-thump-thump_ but he, too, moves so that he can see what is happening outside.

He’s still too close to Stiles, can feel the heat coming from his body and smell him, sweat and soap and nervousness. He can hear his breathing and his heartbeat but he forces himself to turn away and focus his attention to what is happening outside on the parking lot.

A woman is standing in front of Derek. She’s tall with a mass of sleek, black braids, her mouth full of fangs and her eyes are much larger than a normal humans, gold and with slit pupils, like a cat. She doesn’t look scared or nervous. If anything she looks amused.

“Derek Hale, I presume?” she says. She doesn’t speak loudly and Scott wonders if Stiles can hear her over the distance but Stiles is turning stubbornly away from him, leaning towards the crack in the door as if he wants to escape.

“Yes,” Derek says. His arms are still crossed over his chest and his betas positioned around him, “Who are you and what are you doing in my territory?”

“Oh,” she smiles, “Just passing through. Things have changed around here recently, it seems. Used to be that this was no man’s land but then there were all these rumors…about a Hale coming back and making a new pack, reclaiming the territory. I didn’t believe it, you know. It’s not like you’ve marked the town very well-” Scott sees the muscles in Derek’s back stiffen and hears Stiles choke back a laugh, body twitching against Scott. So he can hear her. “But if I had known I would have made myself known. I’ll be leaving soon, don’t worry. I have business elsewhere.”

For a moment Derek doesn’t say anything. And what can he say, really? Apparently he hasn’t been marking the town properly and now that he’s made himself known she’s come out and explained herself to him. Scott isn’t close enough to detect a lie but he’s sure Derek could. It seems sincere.

“I still need your name,” Derek says finally.

“Tanya,” she tells him, “you should take your pack out running like this more often, it would let others know that you’re here. But maybe howling down the town is a little unnecessary? Wouldn’t want the humans to bring in wildlife control.”

Isaac growls at that but she laughs and turns, sprinting away from them. Derek doesn’t move so none of the wolves give chase and seconds later she’s melted into the darkness.

Stiles shoves open the door and strides back towards the parking lot as soon as she’s disappeared.

“You know hiding me was completely unnecessary,” he says as he approaches.

“Precautions,” Derek replies, clipped.

“ _Precautions_ ,” Stiles mocks, “is that right, Mr. Can’t Even Mark The Town Correctly?”

Derek growls at him. Stiles ignores it, going over to his jeep instead and folding up the map.

“Right, I’m going since it doesn’t look like this evening is going to have anything else interesting happening. Does anyone need a ride?”

He’s not looking at Scott. He has, in fact, been stubbornly refusing to look at Scott, who followed him out of the shed and is now standing beside Boyd.

“I’ll take it,” Erica says, “Unless we’re still doing something?” She glances at Boyd.

“I don’t think so,” he says and glances at Derek, who shakes his head.

“Stiles-” Scott begins.

“I’ll see you soon man,” Stiles says. He looks at him for a second, then away again when Scott tries to catch his eye.

Scott sighs and lets him go, picking his bike up instead. Boyd gives him a nod and runs off. Isaac hovers for a moment, shoulders hunched and scarf draped around his neck.

“You wanna get pizza or something?” he blurts out.

“Oh,” Scott weighs his options, “Thanks man, but not today okay? I’ve got some stuff I need to think about.”

Isaac hunches his shoulders further but he smiles crookedly, then turns and runs too.

“Bye,” Scott says to Derek, who is still standing in the parking lot, looking a little lost.

Derek grunts. Scott will take what he can get. He gets out of there.

\--

Stiles doesn’t text at all that evening or the next day or the next. He doesn’t respond to Scott’s texts either so it’s a strange, lonely, empty Stiles-less weekend. Scott goes to the animal clinic and hangs out with his mother who looks at him strangely and asks if he and Stiles had a fight.

“I don’t…think so?” he says but he doesn’t tell her what he thinks he knows which is that Stiles might be into him. Like, in a non-friends kind of way and on the one hand it’s kind of freaking him out but on the other hand he _misses_ him. They’ve never been apart for long and to have Stiles gone like this leaves him strange and empty.

He’ll see him at school on Monday, Scott supposes.

\--

Scott does see Stiles on Monday and Stiles doesn’t even try to run away from him. When Scott asks him about the weekend he gives a one-shouldered shrug.

“My Dad wanted to do a thing,” he says, “And I had to study. You know, stuff.”

He doesn’t look at Scott though and Scott can hear the half hitch in his heartbeat. He doesn’t push it though, just glad that Stiles is speaking to him again.

Well mostly speaking to him. He still won’t look at him properly and during lunch he scurries off, mumbling something about the library. Scott is left standing in the lunchroom by himself and he feels awkward in a way he hasn’t since before he became a werewolf.

Luckily Erica plops her tray down across from him a moment after Scott sits down. She smirks at him.

“Where’s your permanent attachment? Did you have fight?”

“No,” Scott growls, “we’re fine thank you.”

Erica laughs and bites into her apple, “Sounds like trouble in paradise to me.”

Scott frowns and watches her chew. That’s what people say about couples.

“He was just acting a little weird when he drove me home on Friday,” Erica says around a mouth full of apple pulp. She still manages to look incredibly good.

Scott sighs, “I think he’s just trying to work out some stuff.”

“Well if that’s it,” Erica flicks a little piece of the apple that fell onto her tray at him, “I’m sure he’ll get over it and you’ll be back to being your wholesome twosome once more.”

Scott frowns. He hopes so, but he has the feeling that Stiles can keep this up for a long time.

\--

Stiles does manage to keep it up, that day and the next day and the next day. He talks to Scott and doesn’t avoid him so Scott knows it’s not that he’s mad at him but he’s weird about it. He won’t look at Scott properly, or hang out where it could be just the two of them and pulls away from anything that could even be an attempt to touch him. It's exhausting and dispiriting and at the end of these three days Scott is tired and he just wants it to stop. He wants Stiles to look him in the face, for his heartbeat to stop being strange and spikey, to touch him again, have his smell around him.

So he follows Stiles home after Stiles fled to his jeep with a hastily muttered excuse about needing studying.

“Oh it’s you,” Stiles says when he opens the door and his eyes flick from Scott’s face to the bike Scott parked at the curb and back again but he never looks at Scott for more than a second, “I told you I have to-”

“Stiles, we have to talk about this,” Scott says.

“No we don’t,” Stiles crosses his arms ad stares over Scott’s shoulder, “I have a strict policy against talking about things. I vote we never talk about anything ever again.”

“That hasn’t been working out so well so far,” Scott says, “Can I come in?”

Stiles eyes flick to his face, then away again. He licks his lips, then sighs and uncrosses his arms, “Yeah, alright. You’d probably just camp here if I said no.”

They go into the house. Halo is on the TV, Stiles controller flung out on the coffee table in front of it.

“Studying, huh?” Scott asks.

“Shut up,” Stiles looks uncomfortable, then he sighs and his hands start twitching, “You, uhm, you want something to drink?”

Scott stares at him.

“I think the last time you offered to get me something drink we were, like, nine,” he says finally, “This is getting really weird Stiles. Can we just talk?”

“Fine!” Stiles flings himself onto the far end of the couch, arms crossed again, mouth a single, stubborn line, “you want to talk? Talk.”

For a moment Scott is overwhelmed. He doesn’t really have a plan past this point, but Stiles is on the couch, tense and still not looking at him. He knows he has to do something.

“So how long?” Scott asks.  
  
“How long what?” Stiles returns, as if Scott not being able to say the words means he won’t have to answer the question.  
  
“Have you...” and Scott pauses because he’s not actually sure what Stiles wants, only that it’s probably not just friendship.  
  
“...wanted to kiss me?” he ventures finally, because it seems like a pretty safe guess. It must be right because Stiles’ whole body deflates, shoulders slumping and falling in on himself, twitching slightly. He looks down at his hands instead of at Scott and Scott doesn’t know what to _do_ so he just keeps looking at Stiles, listening to his heartbeat, the unsteady _thump-thump-thump_ of it, too quick and unsure.   
  
“A couple of months,” Stiles mumbles, doesn’t look up.   
  
“Okay,” Scott says, pauses, licks his lips. He doesn’t know what to say, because usually Stiles talks to him, gives him his cues. He doesn’t know how this works, but then he’s the one who wanted to know, he’s going to have to say something, make sure it’s alright, stops being weird. He can still hear Stiles’ heart, the way it’s racing and Stiles is sitting on the couch, shoulders hunched over, limbs pulled in, unnaturally still.  
  
“Okay,” he says again, “I don’t- I’m sorry I’m putting you on the spot like this. It’s not like I mind. I just, I could tell, that night, and you seemed so freaked out and you’ve been avoiding me...” he trails off, “I just don’t want things to be weird between us, man. You’re my best friend-” there’s another hitch in Stiles’ heartbeat at that but Scott plows on, “and I really want things to be okay.”  
  
For a moment no one speaks and Scott’s werewolf hearing makes sure he picks up all the noises there are, the rustle of Stiles’ clothes as he shifts in his seat, his uneven breathing and, always, always the beating of his heart.

“What about Lydia?” Scott asks.

Stiles gives a derisive snort, “Dude, you do not stand a chance. If Lydia so much as thought about kissing me, you know I’d be there.”

“Right,” Scott says, but honestly he’s not too sure because Stiles lies to himself as compulsively as he lies to everyone else.

For a moment they’re both quiet then Stiles looks up at him from under his long lashes and gives him a crooked smile, “You’re really okay?”

“Of course dude,” Scott smiles back and let’s himself fall onto the couch “Though I don’t know if I can forgive you for saying you were studying and then actually playing Halo. Looks like I’m going to have to kick your ass for that.”

\--

It’s better after that. Normal mostly. Stiles texts and jokes and looks Scott in the eyes. There are little things that are different, or maybe Scott is only now noticing them. The way Stiles avoids touching him too much or the way his cheeks go pink. Sometimes Scott catches him staring and then he flushes and his heart speeds way up.

That’s another thing, Stiles heart. Because he has been listening to it he knows its patterns. They’re still the same as they were before he knew what Stiles felt but now he can tell. He hears the hitch when he takes of his shirt in the locker room and when he brushes his hand over the exposed skin on Stiles arm. And Stiles doesn’t act any different but-

It’s different for Scott.

It makes him think.

About Stiles and how much he needs him to be there, how he doesn’t know how to do things, how to do _this,_ this whole werewolf thing, without him and his unflinching support. It makes him think about Allison and how it had been so different with her. He had seen her in the hallway and he had known. But Stiles…Stiles had always been around. How did that happened? How did you one day look at a person you had always known and suddenly your heart started beating faster and your mouth felt dry and you wondered how their hands would feel against your skin?

Because that was what Scott was wondering now and he didn’t understand anything anymore.

Which is how he finds himself standing beside Allison’s locker about a week later, looking slightly guilty.

Allison’s eyes go wide when she sees him and her heart speeds up alarmingly.

“Nothing is happening!” Scott says quickly, “I swear, there is nothing freaky going on. I just, um, I needed to talk to you about something. Nothing with werewolves I promise!”

Allison frowns but her stance relaxes slightly.

“Alright,” she says as she puts her books back in the locker, “I’ll meet you at the place with the milkshakes. But I can’t stay too long, I promised my dad I would have dinner with him tonight.”

“That’s fine, I promise,” Scott answers and he thinks his relief must be showing on his face because Allison’s expression softens and she reaches out and gives his arm a squeeze.

“It’ll be fine,” she says and then she leaves. It’s only when Scott is unlocking his bike that he realizes there was no change in her heartbeat when she touched him.

\--

Allison is already in one of the booths when he pulls up with his bike.

“I already ordered,” she says when he slides in across from her, “I assume you still like chocolate best?”

“Yeah,” Scott nods and then for a moment neither of them know what to say and it’s awkward.

Allison starts to laugh, “You were the one who wanted to talk. What’s up?”

So he pours his heart out to her. He tells her about the werecat lady and the hunting and how he’s been tracking Stiles’ heartbeat and what happened in those shacks, how he had realized what Stiles felt and the following days of awkwardness and their confrontation.

“-and now I can’t stop thinking about it. Him. I can’t stop thinking about him and what would happen if I decided to-” Scott stops.

“Give it a shot?” Allison asks then takes a sip of her milkshake. Strawberry. She always liked strawberry best.

“I don’t know,” Scott says, “Like, what the hell, I never thought about this before. Ever. I’ve known Stiles for so long and then _he_ comes to me like this and I _told_ him that I don’t mind and I don’t, I really don’t, I just don’t understand why I’m freaking out like this.”

“Hmmm,” Allison licks her straw, “It sounds to me like you finding out that he was interested in you, like, romantically, made you see some new possibilities that you hadn’t thought of before and now that you are thinking of them you’re finding out that you’re actually sort of into it.”

Scott stares at her, “yeah but- it’s only because _he-”_ he stops, unsure and takes a sip of his own milkshake. The chocolate is sweet on his tongue.

“Well,” Allison says, “You’re interested, he’s interested, I don’t really see what the problem is?”

Scott twitches, “What do you mean I’m interested? What if this is only some, like, weird freak out that I’m having and it turns out to be nothing? I can’t do that to Stiles! And- and- He’s my best friend! It- I can’t-”

“Scott,” Allison smiles at him. There’s a smudge of milkshake at the corner of her mouth, “what it sounds like to me, with the whole listening in on his heartbeat and how you talk about knowing each other, how you miss him when he’s not gone and,” her smile deepens, dimples showing in her cheeks, “what you say you’re thinking about him, well, it seems like you’re interested.”

“I-” Scott frowns, “What am I supposed to do now?”

Allison shrugs and tugs a lock of her hair, smoothing it back behind her ear, “decide, I guess. Whether you want to or not,” she smiles again, “You know I’m glad you talked to me. We don’t belong together anymore but…we can do this for each other, right? Be friends. Help each other out.”

“Yeah,” Scott smiles back at her, “I’m glad, too.”

\--

Outwardly everything stays the same. He hangs out with Stiles at school and at home. Occasionally he runs with Derek and the pack. They do this regularly since the werecat had suggested it, something that makes Stiles laugh himself stupid.

Inwardly, though, Scott is nervous. He doesn’t know what he wants, only that he is looking at Stiles and seeing something different. Not that he doesn’t know what Stiles’ looks like but now he is _seeing_ him, the generous curve of his pink mouth, the warm brown of his eyes, his long, slender fingers and the pale, smooth skin.

He wants-

He knows that Stiles’ wants too, is in tune with it now, but he doesn’t trust himself, doesn’t trust his desire. It’s not what he knows, uncomfortable and unfamiliar.

He looks over at Allison, pale and dark-haired and lovely and then at Stiles, who’s chewing on his bottom lip and high-lighting his text book with unnecessary aggressiveness.

For once Scott is conscious of his own heartbeat, the thump-thump-thump seeming overly fast and loud against his ribs.

He has to decide, for himself at least or maybe he doesn’t. Maybe not doing anything is also a decision but if so he’s making that decision every day and it’s not helping. It won’t leave him alone and he thinks, maybe, he should make another decision.

\--

They’re at Scott’s house. His mom is at work, will be working all night so it’s just the two of them and a lot of take out. Stiles has a couple of movies lined up that he wants to watch and he’s telling Scott about them while he eats, gesturing and open. His heartbeat is steady, the calm thump-thump-thump makes Scott feel at home, more at home than the familiar pattern of the plates or the worn surface of the table.

It’s a striking realization and it makes Scott swallow and smile at Stiles, who smiles back, a bit of vegetable on his lip.

They end up on the couch, curled almost into each other but they’re not touching and in that instant it seems unbearable to Scott. He wants to touch Stiles, to lean into him and press him down. He wants to run his hands over him and his lips and-

So he does, he leans their shoulders together and he can hear Stiles heart hitch and he can feel his own, beating against his ribcage. It’s nothing, nothing yet but it’s a deliberate gesture. The movie is starting but Scott isn’t really watching, too aware of Stiles shoulder and his hand on the couch next to him. He could take that hand, he thinks. He could put his arms around him, pull him close. He wants to so he reaches out, slides his hand over Stiles and threads his fingers between them.

Stiles heartbeat speeds up instantly, _thump-thump-thump-thump_ and his whole body tenses up.

“Scott-” he twitches and half turns on the couch and suddenly his face is very close to Scott’s. He can smell the Chinese food on his breath, see the pink flush in his pale cheeks and now-

Scott leans forward and presses their lips together.

For a moment there is no noise except the television, playing the title music of the movie and then Stiles makes a noise in his throat and pushes forward into the kiss.

Scott knows Stiles so well but not like this. Doesn’t know the way Stiles feels under his hands, doesn’t know the way his lips are dry and chapped and the way he kisses, soft and eager.

They keep kissing and the title music of the movie keeps playing, over and over again in a loop over the menu. They ignore it, too busy with their mouths and their hands, sliding over skin, their bodies close to each other. It feels good, familiar despite the fact that they’ve never done this before and Stiles laughs against Scott’s skin, tiny puffs of breath that make Scott twitch and smile.

Eventually they come apart, lying on top of each other on the couch. Stiles stares at Scott, his eyes wide and shining in the glow of the television screen, skin flushed. Scott smiles up at him and the smile Stiles breaks into is wide and blinding.

They rearrange themselves on the couch again, so that they can actually watch the movie. It’s the same as so many other Friday nights between the two of them but it’s also different, sides pressed together, hands tangled. When the movie gets boring Stiles leans over to Scott and instead of commenting on the stupidity of the movie he presses kisses to Scott’s lips. Occasionally they get distracted from the movie but it doesn’t matter they can watch it again later. For now all that matters is Stiles heartbeat, quick and steady and basically in time with Scott’s.

**Author's Note:**

> So I started writing this like a year ago, found it again last week and put in some effort to finish it. If you liked it feel free to drop by my tumblr (also littleconnections) and say hi!


End file.
